Under Tall Tales
by asterisks-who
Summary: 8 months after Sherlock's death and John is still in doubt. He was starting to come to terms with losing his best friend but in the end, he found out more than he could imagine.


John sat at his laptop, fingers brushing lightly over the keys. The page was still blank and he was at a loss for words for the blog yet again. 8 months had passed since Sherlock's death and he still couldn't find the right things to say. The people who followed his blog had begun to wonder what happened to John.

Things had started to change slowly. First he stopped leaving the light on in the study at night for Sherlock, then he stopped making tea for him in the morning. He stopped checking the bedroom and he even stopped hiding the man's cigarettes and left them on the table for him find. All he needed was him to come back. Two nights ago, he had stopped leaving single cigarettes at Sherlock's grave. He was losing hope and that was the last thing he wanted to happen. Night after night he waited for Sherlock to pop up with a smart-ass remark and indulged him on how he did it. How he survived. He thought the day after the jump Sherlock would return to him. John couldn't take it anymore. He sighed heavily and closed the laptop and rested his hands in his lap. He missed his best friend. He missed him more than anything.

"One more time, Sherlock. Just one more time. That's all I needed from you. One more amazing act that would blow me away. I-" He bit his lip and shook his head. "I miss you and you were supposed to come back to me. It didn't matter how…just come back." He could feel his chest tighten painfully and his eyes stinging. He held back the tears that nearly flowed down his cheeks. "You were supposed to prove me right, Sherlock. Prove that you are just that spectacular. Why didn't you? Why, Sherlock!?"

"Who said I didn't?" A soft voice murmured from the doorway.

John froze. He couldn't even bring himself to turn around. At first he was starting to think that he had finally lost his mind. All he could do was just push up from the chair and stand there for a moment. This wasn't happening. Sherlock was gone and he was so close with coming to terms with that.

"Who said I didn't prove you right, John?"

John slowly turned and came face to face to the man he needed more than air.

"Let me explain." Sherlock said quickly, clearly taking note of John's expression. He knew he was upset.

"...let you explain? What? Explain why I had to watch you jump to your death from a building? Or to explain why I had to visit your grave every day? Wait up every night for you to walk through those doors? C-cry...for you..." He said as he choked out a sob.

Sherlock stared at him. For once in his life he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. What had he done to John?

"Sherlock, you're such an ass!" He shouted before drawing back and clocking him right in the jaw. Sherlock stumbled back and hit the floor hard. He didn't even bother blocking the hit. He knew he deserved that if not more. "I know you're upset-"

"Upset? UPSET IS A BLOODY UNDERSTATEMENT!" John yelled.

Sherlock rubbed his sore jaw and stood from the floor. "John." He nearly whispered. He was confused on what he was feeling. He didn't—no he refused to feel things like this. He wasn't supposed to care but John found his way into his heart and Sherlock wanted to hate it. He wanted to hate it so bad but he couldn't. John was his friend. His _best_ friend.

John was preparing to hit him again but Sherlock stopped him this time. He grabbed the shorter man's wrists and pinned him against the wall, staring down at him. How could he make John understand? Why did he care so much? Why was John the only person he needed to understand his actions?

"I'm going to need you to stop that." Sherlock said, finally speaking again.

John huffed, breathing heavy from anger, confusion, and pain. "…you have five minutes and that's all you get, Sherlock."

Sherlock seemed to smile but he didn't mean to. "I won't need that much time." He said arrogantly.

John glared at him. It was still too soon.

"Okay. I did it to protect Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and most of all. To protect you." He tightened his grip on John's wrists and spoke again. "Moriarty. He had snipers waiting to take you three out if I didn't jump. I wanted to protect you. You're..." His voice lowered. "You're all I have." Yes he had his brother, and Mrs. Hudson. But John was different. John was special. John was his. "I couldn't risk them shooting at you. Or the possibility of them actually hitting you." He had admitted it to himself that he couldn't live without John.

"So you let me think you're dead? I'm not a child, Sherlock. I could have handled it...I could have helped you. I was in a war you know…"

"You were a doctor in a war." He said sternly.

"I can handle myself!"

"Moriarty killed himself. He didn't have a problem putting himself in harm's way so he would have done anything to hurt you. I...I couldn't handle having you targeted by him. Don't you understand?"

"No. I don't. That's no excuse. We could have found another way. "

"No. There was no other way. John I know my behavior was incorrect in your eyes but…" His words…he couldn't use his words. The words he needed weren't in his vocabulary. Well, at least not used in his vocabulary. It was frustrating and he needed John to know. Sherlock's heart pounded with anticipation, why couldn't he just say it?

"….times up." John muttered, eyes looking off to the side.

"John, I can't lose someone I love." He blurted out. He wouldn't lie. Sherlock didn't lie. He just couldn't find the right way to express things like this. How he felt about John was new and he never experienced it with another human being. So he was doing the best he could to make it through.

John's eyes darted back to Sherlock with a confused haze tinting his eyes. What was going on? He cared for Sherlock. That was clear considering how he reacted to Sherlock's death and everything following that event. Hearing Sherlock say something like that still caught him off guard. Sherlock loved him? No, Sherlock didn't say that.

"I...I love you John."

_'...He said it.' _He thought to himself. What on earth could he say to respond to that?


End file.
